


A Dance with the Devil

by CassieSalvatore_Hale



Category: X-Men (Movieverse)
Genre: But it's just at the end, Charles Jean Scott and Hank are also in there, Experimentation, F/M, Jean and Scott don't even get a line, Memory Loss, So I didn't put them under characters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-03
Updated: 2020-08-03
Packaged: 2021-03-06 07:40:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,536
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25679758
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CassieSalvatore_Hale/pseuds/CassieSalvatore_Hale
Summary: Alex doesn't remember much of her past though she does occasionally get what she deems 'flashes', brief little clips that are kind of like watching a first-person movie. After getting one of these 'flashes' during a battle, her entire world turns upside down.
Relationships: Logan & Original Female Character(s), Victor Creed/Original Female Character(s)
Kudos: 13





	A Dance with the Devil

**Author's Note:**

> So, can you guys tell who I've focused on just yet? Is it obvious yet? If it's not, it's Victor. Specifically, Victor from Origins because I fucking LOVE Liev Schreiber but yeah, Victor Creed/Sabretooth. And I don't actually think Sabretooth is said ONCE in this entire story that is almost 9,000 words. I started writing this on my phone last night (Like, really late last night, about 3:30 in the morning) and transferred it to a document on my computer a few hours ago and have thus far been just... writing since then. Now it's complete.  
> Enjoy this monstrosity that I'm actually quite proud of. Might add another chapter sometime later that goes into detail of Victor and Logan hunting down Stryker as I'm kind of itching for him to get his comeuppance. Let me know if you guys would be interested in that and I'll think more about it. In the meantime, enjoy!!

She dodges the ball of fire that is thrown at her, briefly flashing her fangs in a sharp grin. The fight is exhilarating, as she hasn’t had one in _ages._ Fighting the Brotherhood isn’t something the X-Men usually call her in for, as being an Anti-Hero means she is more… violent than they prefer: she knows that if Scott had had his way, she wouldn’t even _be_ on the battlefield right now. She aches to dig her claws into the mutant opposite her, but she refrains, if only because she doesn’t want the lecture. Instead, she catches Pyro by surprise, leaping at him and throwing him to the ground in a move that is _very_ reminiscent of Black Widow; she _was_ trained by the ex-assassin, after all. When she is in a partial sitting position, she punches him, hard enough to knock him out, and then she’s back on her feet, her movements graceful.

She abruptly stops in her tracks when a particular scent filters into her awareness. It smells like pine wood and amber, like something dark and earthy that she doesn’t really have the words for, but more than that, it smells **_familiar_** , and as someone who can’t remember much of anything, it’s confusing. She doesn’t know why it’s so familiar, can’t pinpoint it, as the memories don’t really exist. She tilts her head back, breathing in slow and deep, taking the scent in more completely. She creeps forward, slowly following the scent before she hears a roar across the battlefield. Her eyes zero-in on The Wolverine, battling a gleeful Sabretooth. The moment she locks eyes on the feral feline mutant, pain blooms in her head and she sees flashes in her mind.

_She’s looking up at Victor, annoyed, but he’s grinning teasingly at her; she can see his fangs and instead of being bothered by them, she thinks they’re kind of cute._

_She can feel her mouth moving but can’t hear the words being said. Victor’s head is thrown back as he laughs; her stomach flutters at the sound._

_She’s smiling so wide it hurts, as she looks down at the framed picture in her hands. Victor and Logan are smiling up at her; she stands between them in the photo like it’s where she belongs._

_Logan is rolling his eyes, annoyed. Victor is eyeing her with a smile, amusement making his dark eyes shine. She can feel the impish smile on her face._

_“Give the man a break, kitten.”_

_The words sound faded, almost distorted._

_She can’t see anything, as her eyes are closed, but she can still hear and feel. All she can hear is gasping, little moans that she can barely make out. She can feel hands traveling all over her body, and pleasure building at the base of her spine. Her back arches; her mouth opens, and she whimpers his name._

She snaps back to herself and her heart is surprisingly beating erratically in her chest. She’s staring with wide eyes as Logan and Victor fight; she can suddenly see that Victor is almost toying with Logan. She steps back, her eyes tearing away from the feral mutants to dart around her; somehow, no one has noticed that she’s just standing there.

She does the only thing she can think of, with her heart racing in her chest, and her head full of vague memories; she runs. She darts to her left, and full out sprints off the battlefield, running into the trees and weaving through them gracefully; she doesn’t stop running until she’s back at her bike, and then she’s gunning it down the dirt road. She doesn’t stop or even _slow_ until she’s back home, and her heart doesn’t settle until hours later, when she’s laying in her bed, sweating because it’s hot but the blanket she’s wrapped around her body makes her feel just a little bit more secure. She’s staring at the ceiling, tired but not fully able to sleep, her mind swirling with the vague memories.

Just before sleep can **_finally_** claim her, a thought forces it’s way into her head: _Out of everything that was going on, and all of the people there, how did I catch his scent?_

* * *

She doesn’t leave her house for weeks, ignores her phone that just won’t stop ringing. Part of her wants to remember _more_ , but then she thinks of that last flash of memory she had, and her heart goes crazy all over again; she decides she’d rather pretend nothing happened.

She works on her art, while she blares music in her sensitive ears, getting lost in the movements of her hand, and the music playing, and she scowls when she sketches Victor. She tries again, over and over, but every time her focus shifts to the music, she ends up drawing Victor, or Logan, or both of them laughing; she hates that she doesn’t remember more.

Two weeks into her self-imposed isolation, after she’d finally given up on drawing when all that came out were pictures of the three of them in some way, the dreams begin. Some are short, and almost distorted; she’s fairly certain these ones are memories trying to claw their way up from the depths of her subconscious. But the other, longer and more vivid dreams leave her waking up, heart pounding, body sweating, and an aching between her thighs; she’s never wanted anyone more deeply than she wants Victor, and she’s never regretted craving someone more than she does him.

Three weeks in and there is a fierce pounding on her front door. She knows it’s Logan, would’ve known it was him even if she hadn’t heard the bike, could smell him the moment he came onto her property. She doesn’t want to answer the door, but she’s genuinely worried that he’ll bust the damn door down if she doesn’t. When she throws it open and sees him standing there in his leather jacket and a cigar in his mouth, she wrinkles her nose; the first words out of her mouth cause him to snort.

“You’re not entering this house with that thing in your mouth, or anywhere _else_ on your person.”

He obediently puts the cigar out, even going so far as to crush it under his boot before he comes in. She heads to the kitchen to start lunch and makes enough sandwiches with extra meat for the both of them.

“You haven’t been answering your phone.”

His voice has a hint of an accusation, but it’s eclipsed by the raw concern she can hear. It would be surprising, except Logan has always been oddly attached to her, even if she never quite felt the same. She doesn’t even falter, giving nothing away for all that she’s debating whether to explain things to him; her mind helpfully supplies the brief flashes of memory that he was also in. She’s silent for a long moment, and they’re already halfway through the meal when she finally does speak.

“During the fight, I caught a scent. It was… _familiar.”_

She sees his eyebrows climb up his forehead, the only sign of his surprise, and he tilts his head to the side just the slightest bit, a silent gesture of her to continue; she does.

“I got a little lost in it, tried following it in the hope of maybe remembering something…” She trails off, unsure if she should just come out and say it.

“You did.” It’s not a question, for all that he seems surprised.

The words that fall out of her mouth are not said entirely of her own volition, but they come out sounding nearly desperate, as if she has been aching to tell someone, _anyone._

“I knew Victor Creed.” She sees the way his whole body stiffens, but she barrels on as if she can no longer keep it all in. “I knew him, Logan. And it’s not like I knew him in passing. I only had flashes, but I not only saw him _smile_ but something I said _made him laugh,_ freely! The kind of laugh where your head gets thrown back, and your body shakes, and the world just seems a little bit brighter.

“And you were in some of the flashes! We all knew each other. One of the flashes was me, holding a framed picture of us in matching army uniforms. I was standing in between you and Victor, like it was where I _belonged_. You and he were smiling at the camera, and all three of us looked so damn _happy_. It seemed like the picture was a gift, I think? Another was you, looking so damn annoyed, I think with me. I could **_feel_** the fucking mischievous smile on my face, and Victor was looking at me with this little grin that made his eyes just kind of shine and he even spoke, for all that his voice was oddly distant, faded, almost _distorted_. Told me, ‘Give the man a break, kitten’. Logan, how familiar and _comfortable_ do you have to be with someone to have a goddamn **nickname** for them?”

She’s practically panting, can feel her panic and confusion wrestling inside her; she doesn’t mention the last memory, doesn’t mention the _dreams_ , doesn’t tell him that she’s almost 100% certain that he and Victor are brothers; she doesn’t think he’d handle it well.

Logan is silent for a long, almost terrifying moment; he looks like he’s sorting through everything she said to figure out what he should address first. When he finally speaks, his voice is quiet and _strained_ , as if it’s physically painful for him to stay calm.

“If we knew each other… He’s never said anything, and neither you, nor I remember much of our past. I think you should stay away from him.”

She stares at him, almost gaping. “Do you think I’d fucking seek him out?!” she cries; does he think she’s mad?

He grunts. “No, of course not. But I still think you should avoid him.”

“And if it’s impossible? What if there’s a battle, and I have to engage him?”

“You call me.”

She scowls; she’s not even sure _why_ she’s pushing this. “And what if you aren’t available? If you’re fighting Magneto, or someone else?”

He grits his teeth, she can see it in the way his jaw clenches, can see a vein becoming more prominent in his neck. “Damn it, Alex, just _avoid him._ ”

Part of her wants to bare her fangs, to growl, and tell him he can’t order her around; she suspects it’s the feral inside her. Another part, the more human aspect, silently agrees with him that she should stay away; she doesn’t want to remember how exactly she knows this stuff anyways. She ends up telling Logan she’ll avoid the hulking mutant, and he leaves shortly afterward.

He shouldn’t have believed her so easily.

* * *

_She gasps and moans, her back arching, and her hips bucking to meet the thrusts that are nearly painful. A growl rumbles right in her ear, hands grip her hips tight enough to bruise, but both of those things together just work her high; she’s so close._

_“You gonna cum for me, kitten? Gonna cum all over your enemy’s cock?”_

_His voice, so deep, husky, and downright **sexy** , causes her to shudder, a whimper slipping from her mouth, high and needy._

_“Please.” Her own voice is breathless, high, and straight-up **wrecked.** She’s never felt so desperate, never begged anyone for anything._

_His hips snap harder into the cradle of her thighs as he nearly snarls in her ear. “So good kitten, taking me so well.” His voice sounds just as wrecked as hers, and she realizes with a start that he’s just as close as she is. Her back arches again and she lets out a breathy moan._

_“Victor, please.” She’s not entirely sure what she’s begging for, to feel him cum, or to cum herself, but she doesn’t particularly care. His hips stutter, and then he’s roaring, and it’s quickly cut off by him sinking his fangs into her throat, to mark her, **to claim her as his—**_

She jerks awake, soaking wet and throbbing between her thighs. She lays there for a long moment, staring at the ceiling as she slowly gets her breathing, her heart, under control. As she does, she realizes that the throbbing is slowly dispersing and knows herself well enough to know _why;_ she’d came just before waking. Her cheeks burn and she rolls over, burying her face in her pillow to let out a frustrated, and embarrassed groan. She just sort of just lays there, keeping her face firmly pressed into the pillow while she tries to think of other things; the last month, however, has taught her that these things will not be ignored.

Two weeks after swearing that she’d avoid Victor Creed, she begins hunting him down. It’s difficult, as his many missions cause him to travel frequently, but he always comes back to the same apartment; she’s surprised none of the X-Men know where he lives. So, she stakes it out, perfectly silent, and surprisingly, without him noticing. Another week passes before she decides that approaching him on his territory is a bad idea; he could perceive it as a threat.

So, instead of doing something _that stupid_ , she decides to do something less stupid; it should be acknowledged that it’s still _stupid_ , just less so. With a reminder of the money she has access to, which is a ridiculous amount that frequently has her wondering what she used to do, she sets up a meeting with the villainous feral to offer him a _job._ She’s not sure which is more surprising: that she’s actually doing this, or that he _actually agrees to the meet up._

She picks a clearing in a forest that she knows intimately, silently hopes it’s not one he knows just as well, and sets the time for midday, in three days. She spends the three days with her human side trying to talk her out of this stupidity, while her feral side bolsters her confidence; she wants answers and she knows he has them.

She smells him long before she sees him as she’s downwind of him; she finds herself thankful for it. She’s dressed casually, wearing a tank top and shorts that allow her to move freely; she’s also barefoot, using the feeling of the grass to ground herself, no pun intended. She can feel his eyes on her from behind her, knows that he’s either up in the trees or just behind the first line; she doesn’t turn around until he walks into the clearing. He actually seems to _falter_ when he sees her face, various emotions flitting across his face, his scent flaring to the point that it nearly gives her a headache, but then his expression clears, and he looks calm again; his scent is still chaos.

“Can honestly say I wasn’t expecting you, kitten.”

The nickname that she’s heard in her dreams for _weeks_ now has her stomach fluttering, but she squashes the reaction, keeps her cool. She raises an eyebrow, so damn thankful she’s downwind him so he can’t catch her own scent, as she projects calm, with hints of confusion; she doesn’t answer him.

His eyes narrow just the slightest bit at her not reacting in the slightest bit, though he can see the confusion that cracks her calm exterior; he seems to realize that she doesn’t _remember_ at the same time that she steps closer, her voice carrying clearly across the distance between them.

“I have an… unusual job for you.”

She can’t read him the way she can Logan, but she is fairly certain that his grin and the teasing in his tone when he speaks is at least partially forced.

“Can’t take care of someone yourself?”

She immediately shakes her head, resisting the urge to roll her eyes. “I’m capable of taking down almost anyone I come across as, quite unlike the X-Men, I’m no _hero_.” She tries really hard not to spit the word but it’s difficult; she notices his raised eyebrow but continues speaking, ignoring his curiosity. “I’m willing to pay; half now and the other half if you succeed.”

She takes a deep breath before grabbing the solid black duffle bag by her feet and picking it up. She doesn’t hesitate to close the distance between them, though her heart picks up a bit as she gets closer to him; when she’s close enough, she tosses the bag onto the ground at his feet.

She doesn’t mention his hesitation to check out the bag, but when he finally crouches to look through it, his head ends up snapping back so he can look at her again shortly after; the shock is evident on his face and she’s admittedly a little smug to be able to surprise him like that. When he stands, his movements are slow and graceful; she tries not to stare. Fuck she didn’t realize before that he was so goddamn _tall_ , a good foot taller than her and therefore towering over her now; when did he get so damn close? There was a good several feet between them just a moment before.

“What could you possibly want me to do that requires this much money?” His voice is quiet and deep and almost exactly like her dreams; she’s quickly realizing this is a terrible idea but she’s not going to back down; she needs to _know_.

“The money is an incentive, a way to get you to say yes. Like I said, it’s an unusual job. You won’t be killing anyone, hunting anyone. I know that’s what you prefer, so I figured I’d give you a decent incentive to say yes.”

His eyebrows climb up his forehead until he’s looking at her incredulously. “If you’re not going to have me killing, then why me?”

She doesn’t grit her teeth but it’s close; she was hoping she wouldn’t have to explain but it looks like she does; why is it so fucking hard to look away from those dark eyes? “There is a lot that I don’t remember, and I don’t even know _why_ I don’t remember. Charles seems to think it was due to some form of experimentation.” Her hands nearly clench into fists, but with the way her claws are growing, she knows it’s a bad idea; she does a brief calculation in her head. “Six weeks ago, I reluctantly joined the X-Men in a battle against the Brotherhood. During this battle, I caught a scent that was achingly familiar and as I have little to no memory of my past, I was understandably caught of guard. You and Logan were fighting and upon realizing that the scent was _yours_ , I was hit with a splitting headache and multiple flashes of memory.”

She sounds frustrated and she quickly works to get herself back under control. “I knew you at one point. Hell, I knew _both_ of you, and Logan is fucking useless as he has no memory either. Which, unfortunately for me, leaves _you_. I’ve been driving myself nuts for six fucking weeks, but it won’t leave me alone.” She suddenly shrugs, tilting her head back just the slightest bit. “After a lot of debate with myself, I gave in. The memories imply a certain… familiarity. Charles has made several comments about how it could help trigger memories if I was around someone who knew me, but we haven’t been able to find anyone who knew me prior to my memory loss. Logan does know me, but, again, he doesn’t remember either; and frankly, knowing now that there was a time when he and I were friends explains... a lot of weird things that didn’t add up before. Your job, so to speak, is to help me remember my past, whatever you can. I don’t _exactly_ expect this to work, but even if it doesn’t, you get the money that’s currently in the bag. Way I see it, you’ve got nothing to lose, I’ve got nothing to lose.”

She crosses her arms over her chest, staring up at him almost defiantly, challenging him to take the job; she won’t beg or plead. If he doesn’t take the job, then that’s it; she’ll go back to slowly driving herself insane with the lack of knowledge on her part; she’s not sure she’d be able to live with it, but she can try.

He’s silent for a long, painful moment, just studying her; his gaze threatens to light her up, but she forces herself to stay calm, to ignore it. When he finally speaks, his words shock her.

“Alright.”

She’s straight-up gaping at him, she knows she is, especially with the way his lips curl up in a smirk, the way his dark eyes shine with amusement, but she can’t help it; she didn’t actually expect him to _agree_ , even with the cash incentive.

“Cat got your tongue?”

Her mouth shuts with an audible click of teeth. She watches him warily as he hefts the bag up onto his shoulder like it weighs nothing; like there isn’t approximately $2 Million inside it. He turns to walk away but before he does, he’s throwing even more surprising words over his broad shoulders.

“Pack a bag. If you want me to help you with your memory, then I know just the place to go. Plan for cold weather.”

She stares after him as he walks off with the duffle bag, continuing to stare long after she no longer smells him; what the fuck had just happened?

* * *

She doesn’t see him again until nearly a week later and the fact that he actually shows up on her front porch, even _knocks on the door_ , should terrify her, but she’s honestly just kind of relieved. Her bag is packed and she’s ready to go wherever he plans on taking her; she knows she shouldn’t go with him, has no idea where they’re going, but she wants to know so badly that she can’t find it in her to care; besides, it’s not like he can kill her.

It takes approximately six or so hours to get to the country they’re going to and she’s honestly not as surprised as she should be to find that Victor has access to a private fucking jet; she has no idea how old he is but if he’s even close to her own age, which the memories seem to imply, he probably has a pretty sizeable bank account as well, especially as he’s basically a mercenary and must get paid plenty of money all the time.

When they arrive in what turns out to be fucking _Canada_ , it’s fucking freezing, and she’s glad she dressed for the cold weather like he said to. Even after the six or so hour jet ride, it’s still a several hour _drive_ to the cabin they end up at. Something about it tickles her memory, tells her quite firmly that she’s been here before. She squints up at the cabin, if she can even _call_ it that because it’s absolutely massive and practically on top of a goddamn _mountain_. The _house_ is built of wood and flinty, jagged stone, a towering two stories sprawled across the mountaintop, and the path leading up to it is overgrown and dusted in a layer of snow. The hedges are wild and untamed, and the spiked, cast-iron gate is rusted, and the garden is overrun and three of the windows—two on the top floor and one on the bottom—are boarded up and broken. It looks desolate. It looks _lonely_ , framed by towering evergreen trees and fading rays of bitter burnt-orange sunlight. Trees are in every direction and they actually had to leave the _jeep_ at the bottom so that they could _climb_ the fucking mountain and if it hadn’t been so exhilarating to free climb like that, and if she wasn’t paying him to fucking _help her_ , she thinks she might try to kill him. It’s remote, it’s stupidly stunning, it’s achingly _familiar_ , and it leaves an oddly bitter taste on her tongue.

He leads her up to the door, which is weather worn, the wood warped, and the worn copper doorknocker is decorated with small, delicate carvings of blooming aconite. He pushes it open and walks in, not waiting to see if she’ll follow him; she does. Upon stepping a single foot into the house, she’s assaulted by three distinct scents, old, faded, but still undeniably there; she recognizes Victor’s scent clearly by now, but she almost falters when she realizes why the other two are so familiar. The first one smells like ash, and smoke, like evergreen and cheap cigars, like pine, and cinnamon, and firewood; the name practically screams itself in her head and she hadn’t realized that she knew Logan’s scent so strongly. The second one smells like thunder, and the woods after it rains, like lavender, and vanilla, and distinctly like an ocean breeze and if she’s surprised she knows how to identify her own scent, she doesn’t show it; she doesn’t show any of her surprise, even when the attack of the scents, intermingled the way they are, trigger flashes of more memories.

_Logan has his left arm around her shoulders, he’s standing on her right and he’s laughing; she can feel Victor directly beside her, can feel his heat searing into her left side, can hear his laughter mingling with Logan’s._

_Victor is smiling tenderly down at her; she can feel his fingers brushing so gently across her cheek and she can feel the equally gentle smile on her own lips. The environment around them is blurry but the scent underneath his, which is slowly overwhelming her, reminds her distinctly of a library._

_She can hear shouting that’s slowly morphing into roars of fury; panic is curling through her and she **needs to move faster**._

She doesn’t gasp when she abruptly comes back to herself, but damn if it isn’t close. Victor is studying her, his expression perfectly blank, and when she meets his gaze, tension that she hadn’t realized was there seems to drain from both of their bodies.

“I’ll show you to your room.”

She doesn’t thank him, but she does follow him up the stairs. Upon entering the room, she once again catches her own scent and, for a reason she doesn’t want to think about, Victor’s scent is nearly as strong here; she doesn’t smell Logan here. He shows her the bathroom that is attached to the room and then he tells her to get some sleep.

“We’ll begin in the morning.”

If it had been Logan, she knows that her hackles would’ve risen, that she would’ve been filled with the urge to bare her fangs, to growl at the order, just like when he demanded she avoid the very mutant that is giving the order now, that she is now going to be living with for an indeterminable amount of time, but she merely nods; she blames her complacency on how exhausted she really is and is determined not to examine it any further. She makes quick work of her clothes once he’s gone and eagerly takes a shower, ignoring how familiar the whole place is.

By the time she’s dressed in her sleepwear, she feels refreshed, but still undeniably exhausted. The tank top she’s wearing clings lightly to her skin, and she wished for a moment that he upper body didn’t always get so damn warm as she feels _exposed_ in the tank top, in a way she didn’t feel last week when she met up with him; there’s just something about the new environment that is oddly intimate and she’s thankful for the sweatpants. She slips into the bed and is once more assaulted with the mingling of her scent and Victor’s; she doesn’t expect it to relax her the way it does but she’s asleep before she even realizes it.

The next several weeks go by almost painfully slowly; he seems to be making a genuine effort to trigger memories but something tells her that he’s holding something back; she wonders why he doesn’t just _tell her_ what he knows about her; she wonders if he’s worried she’d run if he did. Victor Creed is tall and broad-shouldered with rough hands, and a quick tongue and thinking about what he could do to her makes her feel like she’s on fire; the memories she’s slowly—so fucking slowly that it’s nearly painful—getting back are _not helping_.

She only seems to really get the flashes of memory when he’s standing too close for comfort, when she’s wrapped so deeply in his scent that she can’t think of anything else; her craving for him is only growing with the constant close proximity and she’s certain that by the time this is over, she’ll be completely insane. She doesn’t mention any of this to him; she wants to remember but the more human aspect of her is terrified of what he’d do with the knowledge that it’s him being so fucking close to her that’s triggering the memories and not whatever he’s doing or saying during those moments.

She gets her first full fucking memory three weeks into this stupid thing, when they’re both jittery; Victor takes her to the front of the house, to the courtyard, and they spar and it’s good, it’s great until he ends up pinning her down at one point with his hand on her throat, and his body pressed so damn tightly against hers and she goes fucking _rigid_ as her sight goes completely black.

_She’s panting as Victor pins her **again** , and she wants to be irritated, but it’s hard when she’s more focused on how damn delicious he smells, how close his body is to hers, how she can **fucking** **feel** how hard he is. The ground should, realistically, be biting into her back, but she honestly doesn’t give a single fuck because he’s staring into her eyes, and his normally dark eyes are fucking amber and she can feel her feral side reacting to him so completely, so easily, that her hips buck almost of their own accord and then he’s kissing her and it’s everything but gentle; it’s harsh, and firm, and **passionate,** and so fucking good and it’s so easy to give in to him, to demand more, to moan and arch into him when his tongue forces it’s way into her mouth._

_She remembers that James isn’t there right now, that he’d left about an hour ago and wasn’t supposed to come back for a few days, and it’s this reminder that gets her to allow Victor to strip her right where she is, in the back yard of the house, with grass and stone biting into her back and his cock fucking her so deliciously, hitting every little thing inside her that causes her toes to curl, and her back to arch, and her claws to dig into his back, and his name to be ripped from her throat like it’s a fucking prayer._

_His scent, so intoxicating and masculine, is slowly overwhelming her, and his hands feel like live wires on her skin everywhere they touch, lighting her up from the inside out, and they can’t seem to stop **moving** , like all he wants is to keep touching her, to never stop touching her, like he’s not entirely sure this is actually happening, and all she can do is fucking take it, writhe under him breathlessly while he whispers and grunts and growls filthy praises into her ear that only serve to have her begging and pleading for the release that she can feel creeping up her spine._

_And then he changes his angle and hits something particular inside her and she’s screaming her throat raw and clenching beautifully around him and she swears she actually **blacks out** when she cums but when she comes back to herself, he’s barely holding himself up and his hips are still and she feels even more full than when he first entered her and it’s a glorious feeling. They’re sharing breath and they haven’t looked away from each other’s eyes since they started and she doesn’t want to look away now, doesn’t want to break the bubble that’s surrounded them, doesn’t want to ruin the intimacy; she honestly thinks she might be completely in love with him._

When she comes back to herself, leaves the memory, Victor is still pinning her, but now his hips are rocking into hers and his hand isn’t around her throat anymore, but she almost wishes it _was_ and she can’t look away from the look in his dark eyes. She isn’t sure how long he’s been rocking into her but it feels so fucking good and she’s aching to have him inside her but he doesn’t make any move to strip either of them, just presses a little harder into her body, rocks his hips faster, practically thrusting against her now, and she lets out this little breathless moan and finds herself suddenly clinging to him, rocking her hips in time with his own. And then his eyes are tearing from hers and his mouth is dropping to her shoulder, licking, and sucking, and biting and it sends a shiver through her to feel his fangs scrap against her skin and it all feels so good, too good and then she’s coming undone beneath him as he rocks his hips against hers and then his hips jerk once, twice, and then he stills, his body tense like he’s trying to stop himself from doing something that he shouldn’t do and it physically hurts to resist it.

Several long, silent, almost _intimate_ moments pass between them where they’re not speaking and they’re sharing breath but then he’s pulling away from her, getting up and just leaving her there, on the ground in the courtyard. She sits up to watch him stalk back into the house and she can’t hide her confusion, can’t pretend that she isn’t a little hurt. And then the memory, crystal clear, is replaying in her head over and over and all she can think was that there was a time in her life when she was so in love with Victor Creed that he meant the fucking _world_ to her and now she wants to know more; she’s not sure she can stand this much longer, not sure she can stand him not telling her things, and him being oddly distant sometimes and then too close for comfort other times. One thing she’s certain of is that if he doesn’t stop withholding things from her, then Victor fucking Creed is going to be the reason she goes totally insane.

* * *

It’s a few weeks later, with very little progress, that she gets the call. She’s frustrated and irritated, and annoyed and everything in between because Victor has grown completely cold and distant, even though he still tries to help her with her memory it almost seems like he doesn’t _want_ her to remember anymore so when Logan calls, she answers without hesitation.

He tells her that they need her help and asks how soon she can come back to the country and she doesn’t tell him what she’s even doing _outside_ of the country but she does tell him it’ll be a day and that she’ll meet him at the school. She’s too wired, too tense to notice how off the whole conversation is and just accepts things as they are when Logan gives her an address instead, desperate to _leave_ though she fully has plans to come back, of course, if Victor still even wants her around by the time she’s done with what ever the X-Men seem to need her help with.

She tells Victor what’s going on, or rather what she _knows_ , and that she shouldn’t be any longer than a week because she never is when it comes to helping the X-Men and he grunts but doesn’t actually _say_ anything and she’s so sick of feeling stupidly hurt by how callous he is now that she just leaves.

She wishes she hadn’t been so desperate to leave because by the time she’s back in the US and at the address that Logan had given her, she’s realizing it’s a goddamn trap and it’s too late. A harsh blow to the back of her head coupled with a sting that she knows is some kind of sedative that _shouldn’t work_ with her healing _but it does_ and she wakes up strapped to a table, chained down like a fucking animal, and it sends her feral wild; she struggles and it doesn’t do any goddamn _good_ and she knows the moment she sees fucking **_Stryker_** that things are not going to be pleasant for her, even if she doesn’t actually _remember_ him, she knows he’s bad news because her instincts couldn’t be screaming _louder_ at her.

She spends ages being experimented on, being starved and drugged, and she honestly doesn’t know exactly how much time has passed when she hears a roar that is definitely not her own split the air. The doctors around her, the ones that have _cut her open_ and are keeping her stomach open, _keeping it from healing_ , stiffen and shift nervously, and then another roar and the sounds of screams are filling the air and she realizes with a jolt that she recognizes the roar. She begins laughing, and it’s a broken, exhausted, and hysterical sound that terrifies her captors as much as it annoys them and her teeth are bloody and she’s thinner than she should be and her stomach is _still cut open_ but it’s slowly healing when Victor and Logan burst through the door **_together_**.

When they see her strapped to the table, two twin roars of absolute fury break the air, followed by the sounds of absolute carnage; the scents of human blood, and terror and fury overwhelm the disgustingly sterile scent, along with the scent of her own blood and when everyone in the room but them is dead, both feral mutants turn to her table. They are both equally careful in getting her up and it’s Victor that ends up cradling her in his arms and she can’t help but feel absolute awe and wonder that they teamed up with each other, that they put aside their differences and absolute hatred for each other to save her; she has a brief wonder of whether this is a memory but then Logan is slicing the throat open of another doctor who’d entered the room and she notices his adamantium claws and she knows that it’s not a memory and not a dream, that it’s **_real_**.

“Easy kitten. We’re going to get you out of here.” Victor’s voice is soft, almost hoarse, and she can hear the slightly unhinged and broken note in it.

She buries her face in his chest and breathes in his scent, allows it to relax her because she’s spent a good several weeks here and while she remembers ** _so much more now_** she almost doesn’t want to because she also remembers how she lost her memory and it’s fucking horrifying what she’s been through and how she got stolen from the brothers right under their noses. She doesn’t want to explain just yet that everything she’s been through the past who knows how long—she later learns it was well over a fucking **_month_** —triggered her memory and that she remembers absolutely everything about her past and that she fucking loves him and she’s so sorry, no, she’ll save that all for later when they’re out of the facility and her head doesn’t hurt and she doesn’t feel like she’s going to pass out because her healing factor has been suppressed which is why it’s taking her so fucking long to _heal_.

“I need you to stay awake, kitten.” Victor’s voice is suddenly much further away and there is a panicked note slipping in. “Jimmy! I’m losing her!” Her eyes are slipping closed and the last thing she hears before everything goes black is Victor shouting “ALEX!”

* * *

She awakens to a steady beeping that is obnoxious and a sterile scent that causes the steady beeping to increase in pace; before she’s even fully aware that she’s doing it, she’s thrashing in the bed and screaming and then he’s just kind of _there_ , his arms wrapping tightly around her and climbing into the to small bed and holding her close and she’s breathing in his scent and the stupid beeping is slowly calming and she realizes rather belatedly that it’s a damn heartrate monitor at the same time she realizes Victor is speaking softly in her ear.

“Easy kitten, I got you. You’re alright, I’ve got you.”

The quiet words have their intended effect and she practically melts against him, tucking her face in his neck to more fully receive his scent. He adjusts his hold on her so that she’s sitting in his lap without disturbing the wires that are hooked up to her and she practically clings desperately to him. When she’s finally calmed down enough to speak, she feels she owes an explanation, even if it’s embarrassing.

“The sterile scent.” Her voice is quiet, and painfully hoarse and it almost causes her to cough. She realizes it’s not _much_ of an explanation but by his grunt, which is almost a growl, he understands and he just sort of holds her closer, relatively silent now which allows her to focus on the sound of his heart, the sound of his breathing, and she’s certain it didn’t always use to be this damn soothing.

Things are quiet for a long moment and she eventually decides now would be a good time to tell him because she’s awake and she doesn’t know if he’s going to hang around or if he’s going to leave now that he knows she’s okay; she still can’t quite wrap her head around the fact that he actually teamed up with Logan to bust her out of Stryker’s facility. But when she opens her mouth to say those three simple words, they’re interrupted by the arrival of several other people.

Charles wheels into the room, and Logan is directly behind him, and Jean is beside Charles, with Scott, and even Hank is there. She’s surprised that Jean _and_ Hank are here and distantly wonders how extensive her injuries had been; she’s not sure she wants to know. But Charles smiles so brightly when he sees her, Hank and Jean look straight up _relieved_ to see her awake, and even Scott is giving her a soft smile that she’s sure reaches his eyes, behind his glasses, and she has a brief moment to wonder how they’re so comfortable with Victor being _right there_ given just who he is before Hank is speaking, breaking through the haze of her thoughts.

“You gave us all quite the scare, though I don’t think anyone more than Logan and Victor.” Hank’s voice sounds almost teasing, and Logan flashes him a glare before he fixes that very look on her, and part of her wants to shrink back, to hide her face in Victor’s throat and hide from the disappointment shining in Logan’s eyes but another part wants to settle more completely and show him that she doesn’t really care how disappointed he is because Victor makes her feel comfortable and if he doesn’t like it he can get the fuck over himself; she doesn’t do either of them because Charles is speaking now.

“How much do you remember?” He doesn’t sound worried and she would think it was strange, but she’s pretty sure everything in her head is currently projecting loud enough for fucking _Jean_ to catch, let alone for a skilled telepath like Charles; Jean’s little snort is enough to confirm her thoughts for her and she flashes her a bit of a sheepish smile before answering Charles’ answer, mostly for everyone in the room who _can’t_ read her thoughts.

“I wasn’t awake all the time, but I remember _everything._ ” She puts a specific amount of emphasis on the last word, giving him a meaningful look that has him straightening up in his chair in surprise; perhaps she wasn’t projecting _everything_ then. They don’t hang around for long, really just doing a brief check-up, and when Charles leaves, Jean and Scott do as well; Hank stays long enough to do a _medical_ check-up, make sure she’s healing alright, and then he’s disappearing at the door as well after telling her to let him know if she needs anything.

Then she’s alone with both feral mutants that she knows so fucking well and a part of her longs for Logan to _remember_ the way she does because she _really_ wants her best friend, but she privately decides that she’ll help him remember. And fuck she hopes that Victor will help too and it’s that thought that drags her back to the reminder that she doesn’t even know if Victor will stick around; that incessant beeping is starting to raise again and Logan suddenly looks slightly panicked and she realizes she can’t really _breathe_. And then both Logan and Victor are speaking softly, practically _cooing at her_ , calming what she dimly realizes is a fucking panic attack brought on by the thought that Victor is just going to fucking _leave her_. When she’s calm again, Logan still looks slightly panicked.

“Stop doing that.” The words come out exasperated and she thinks slightly annoyed, and her hackles rise, a hiss slipping out of her and she’s speaking before she’s even registered the opening of her _mouth_.

“Excuse me for having a fucking panic attack at the thought that Victor is just going to leave now that I’m awake and the thought that you don’t fucking **_remember_** anything tears me up inside because damn it Logan, I fucking want my best friend and my mate to stay right where they fucking are!” The moment the words register, her mouth snaps shut with a painfully audible click of teeth, horror washing through her. Logan’s jaw is open, but nothing is coming out and Victor is suddenly perfectly still beneath her, his hand no longer soothingly rubbing up and down her back and he’s not quite _stiff_ but it’s close. Neither one speaks for a terrifyingly long moment and when one of them does, it’s not who she expects.

“You remember?” Victor’s voice is strained, just like Logan’s was all those long weeks, _~~months~~_ , ago and she’s abruptly reminded that these two are half-brothers and the snort that leaves her is almost painful, no wait, it _Is_ painful, rattles something in her abdomen that aches and she makes a noise like she’s been punched in the gut and then it’s fading as her healing kicks in a little more.

She avoids looking at either of them, hates that she feels oddly _shy_ all of a sudden, and decides that she doesn’t _want_ to be shy, so she forces her voice to sound confident, raises her eyes to look at Logan and then at Victor. “I do. I remember everything.” And maybe she can see how tense he is, maybe some part of her knows exactly what he’s thinking, or maybe she just realizes what the emotions in his scent are because she’s laying her head on his shoulder, though making sure she can still see Logan, and relaxing further in his lap.

She knows he’s surprised, knows there are a million questions on the tip of his tongue and she knows exactly what the biggest one _is_ and she wants to reassure him because now she knows he’s not going to leave her but he thinks she’s going to _leave him_ , probably for what he’s become since her absence but none of it bothers her, there’s a reason she isn’t a hero, why she chose to be an Anti-Hero, and so the words are falling from her mouth like a waterfall and they sound reassuring and free of judgment on his part, but they also sound self-deprecating.

“I never left you guys. I was in the nearest town, to get groceries, we were getting low on the more human food and I was ambushed, abducted by Stryker for experimentation.” She knows Logan doesn’t remember the house, knows he’s not going to know what she’s talking about, but she also knows that some part of him knows who Stryker is because of the way his claws come out at the mention of his name; or maybe it’s her most recent stint with the crazy asshole that has fury curling through him; Victor isn’t much better.

“I hadn’t been paying attention to my surroundings, I was too focused on just wanting to go back _home_ because despite if being a small mountain town, there were too many _people_ and I felt exposed and uncomfortable and I realized too late that it wasn’t because of the people but because I was being stalked. He knew that I was important to the both of you and he said something about getting me out of the way and then he found out I was a feral mutant like you guys, and he was creepily interested. He experimented on me, tortured me, and one of his experiments wiped my memory while giving me the strength I needed to escape.”

Victor is holding her tighter, closer, and he’s not quite shaking with barely restrained fury but it’s close and she has a brief moment of wondering if Stryker is still alive before Logan speaks, cutting right through her thoughts.

“I’m going to kill him.”

Victor’s voice is almost sadistic when he speaks right after. “I’ll help you.” And she knows that they absolutely will hunt that sick bastard down and they don’t even know the extent of the things he did to her, let alone that he tried to breed her this time around, but she also knows that if they were to leave her alone while they hunted him down right now, she might actually lose it, so she tangles a hand in Victor’s shirt and reaches forward enough to grasp Logan’s arm and she clings almost desperately to them both.

“Don’t. Not yet. Please.” She can’t manage to bring herself to say anything more, but it doesn’t matter because both men settle down; Logan nods once at her and she nearly slumps where she’s at; fuck she’s tired.

“Sleep, Kitten. We’re not going to leave you alone.”

She’s almost surprised that Victor doesn’t sound even remotely annoyed or jealous at the reminder that Logan isn’t going to just leave but she finds herself to tired to actually _be_ surprised, so she just reluctantly lets go of Logan’s arm to curl up further in her mates lap, burying her face in his neck all over again and closing her eyes; Victor’s hand starts up its soothing movement up and down her back again and she’s asleep before her breathing finishes evening out.

**Author's Note:**

> So... this turned out so much longer than I had intended and more intense than I intended, and just... this turned out vastly different than what I had been intending. Hope you enjoyed.


End file.
